Jun 2014
This is not a poem
It's a memory fleeting
I can't control this and
it's just eating and eating
away at my skin
and my bones
and my blood is boiling,
hot to the touch as you walk away from me.
Letting go, I've never iced over so fast.
It's a memory fleeting
I can't control this and
it's just eating and eating
away at my skin
and my bones
and my blood is boiling,
hot to the touch as you walk away from me.
Letting go, I've never iced over so fast.
You mean(t) everything to me, and I'm not sure how I'm going to handle this.
